


Of Sentient Toasters (or maybe DVRs) and Being Late

by ThaliaClio



Series: Demons and Playmates [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Psych
Genre: But so does Shawn, Drunk Tony, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Platonic Cuddling, Right now it's pretty platonic, Tony Has Issues, or maybe not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:20:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaClio/pseuds/ThaliaClio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is drunk. Shawn is on the phone. Tony's couch is not as comfortable as his chairs. Alternatively titled "I Should Be Sober and You Should Be Drunk".</p><p>We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours. - Unknown</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sentient Toasters (or maybe DVRs) and Being Late

You’re drunk and lonely and it’s 2 am. So you call him.

“Shawwwwwwwwwwn.”

 _“Tony?”_ Shawn’s voice is staticky. You say as much.

“Mmmm… Bzzzzzzzzz.”

A pause. The line gets clearer. _“Are you drunk?”_

“Only mostly.”

_“Should I be worried?”_

“No more than us'al. Haaaaaaa. My head is wobbly and wibbly like time.”

 _“The Doctor you are not.”_ You can hear yelling in the background of the call. Shawn hurls a curse away from the phone and then keeps talking to you. _“Okay, Tony, why are you drunk?”_

“Just cause. I like the not--not feelin’ part. I feel all I don’t ca'e and meeeeeh.”

 _“What don’t you care about?”_ Shawn sounds worried. Shawn never worries, not really. ‘Cept sometimes when he’s around you. But you only ever worry around him, really, too.

“Stuff. Liiiife. You’re cute. I like you, Shawn Spenner. Imma call you ssssss. Cause both ‘r names start with s.”

 _“Does that mean I can call you ‘ts’?”_ Shawn sounds plastic, like you when you give interviews for TV.  You’re confused.

“Why are you _ts_ ing me? I didn’t do anything _ts_ ing worthy. Worth.. tssssssssssssssss.”

 _“….how drunk are you?”_ Shawn sounds worried again.

“I think I ‘nven'd a sentien’ toaser.” At least you think that’s what it is. It seems toaster-shaped. But it might be a sentient DVR.

Pause.

 _“Should I be calling Obie?”_ The yelling is gone from the background of the call. You think you heard a door slam and a ‘don’t come back’ first, though.

“s not that bad. J would’ve called if it was.”

_“J?”_

“Sir is alright by his own standards, and death and injury are not likelihoods, so I have not notified Mr. Stane. However, I would prefer you not hang up. “

_“Okay.”_

You wonder where Shawn is right now. You wonder who was yelling. You miss him.

“I feel bzzzy and dizzy and woooooo. My head keeps spinning round and round and round.”

 _“J?”_ Shawn sounds worried-er.

“How close are you?”

_“Coming now. Give me an hour.”_

“Yes, Mr. Spencer. And thank you.”

__

When Shawn arrives it’s 4:28 am on Friday. It’s an hour and twenty minutes after you called him.

“Yer laaaaaaaate.” JARVIS locked you out of the lab, and you’re sprawled across the couch.

“A wizard is neither late nor early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

You giggle. You’re still smiling when you feel a hand in your hair and even with your eyes closed you know it’s Shawn’s.

You hum noncommittally, pushing up into his hand. “Where were you?”

“Upstate. Tonight is the start of our weekend, remember? I was going to come early and surprise you.”

There’s something funny in his voice, and you open your eyes to squint at him. “Where were you?” You repeat, trying very very hard not to slur.

Shawn’s smile is brittle and sharp and suddenly you feel very very sober. “Thought I’d stop by my dad’s.” His laugh is hollow and your heart aches. “Figured it’s been four years and it couldn’t hurt.” The brittle smile breaks, and you can practically feel the shards of glass. “It hurt.”

You wish your mind would work right, that your limbs would listen to you. You regret drinking so much. You want to hug him, to stroke his hair. You suddenly remember that Shawn’s only twenty-one and that even if his father isn’t dead it sometimes feels like it might be better if he was. You want to tell him that he's better than a desk and a gun and a badge. You want to tell him that when his visits are the highlights of your months. You want to tell him he's the highlight of your life.

But “s'rry,” is all that comes out.

You frown at your words -- or lack thereof -- and shrug. You reach up one clumsy hand until you find the soft cotton of his t-shirt and just pull. Shawn stumbles on top of you with a huff, but doesn’t really resist. Instead he just kind of sinks into you and curls up around you. He feels very small. You do too.

“Me too.”

This is the first time of many you fall asleep with Shawn Spencer. This is first time in a long time you don’t have any nightmares. Even if you do wake up with a killer hangover and a crick in your neck.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be trying out all sorts of writing styles with this series. Let me know what you guys think of my Drunk Tony attempt (which may or may not have been written when I was actually drunk and edited later).
> 
> PS - This is set before "Of Pineapples and PAs".


End file.
